The Victor's Son
by Madzapan
Summary: Were you sad when Finnick Odair died? This story follows his son, Timothy, and the life he leads. Everything is mostly normal until a stranger shows up at his door, one who seems vaguely familiar...
1. A Stranger

The Victor's Son

Prologue: A Stranger

I sit down on the front steps of the house, once again rejected. Rue has not yet said yes to my pleas to dance with her for one, only one, song. I can still hear the music creeping through the shutters and leaking from under the front door. And while everyone else twirls and dances and laughs inside—including Rue—I sit and battle with my emotions. I'm such a mess.

My father would know what to do, or so I can tell from the stories. He always knew what to do in situations like these.

But all I remember of him are two blue-grey eyes. My mother tells me stories of him every night, yet I just can't put together the broken pieces that are said to be my father.

_He was brave._

_Oh, he was so handsome…_

_The scum of the earth_.

_You have his eyes._

_That man stood me up twelve times!_

_Yes, he was a good man._

How can I possibly put these puzzle pieces together into one person?

I have figured out one true thing of my father: he was famous. At school, everyone who doesn't know me asks my name, whisper like they've heard rumors. And when I tell them, the boys' eyes get wide and the girls nearly faint.

"Timothy Odair."

I guess they've heard more stories than I have.

I act aloof, seductive even, for that's what they seem to expect. They all love me—I've seen the notes the girls pass in class commenting on my dark honey-colored hair or my ocean-colored eyes, and how much I look like him. How would they know? I've gone out with at least twenty of the girls in my small school. It's my duty, apparently. They all expect it of me…. And it's almost how I hold myself together. If I don't act like the ideal playboy, some weak part of me aches like something needs to go there, like an identity, a father. A mother that isn't crazy. I want to be more than a shell.

But now, at this party where I wish more than anything to dance with Rue Mellark, I am completely clueless and wishing there was someone who could point me in the right direction. The only person I would trust to is dead.

It begins raining, so I sullenly walk inside to where I have to pretend I'm having fun. I see Katniss and Peeta Mellark whirl across the floor like they are the only two in the room. It gives me a lump in my throat to think their daughter is utterly uninterested in doing the same with me. I take a seat at the kitchen table, covered with different bottles of liquor that I'm not allowed to drink yet, and remove a length of string from my pocket. My nimble fingers knot it quickly and tightly, my disappointment beginning to melt. I pull one end of the rope and all the knots disappear.

I'm getting ready to start the knotting sequence again when there is a weak knock at the door. When no one answers, I'm forced to stand up and open the door to the dark and rain-soaked outside.

A man with blue-grey eyes stands at the open frame. His honey-colored hair is matted down with rain, and a crescent-shaped scar marks his neck. I am about to tell him to leave, he has the wrong house, when suddenly, all in the room turn and stare. My mother drops to her knees and covers her ears. Katniss and Peeta begin to cry, while Rue and Gale stare blankly, almost uncomprehending.

The man pushes straight past me, past every frozen person, until he reaches my mother. He takes her head in his hands and mutters,

"Annie, it's okay, Annie, I'm here…"

Dead silence.

And then a drunk Haymitch Abernathy stumbles out of the bathroom, vomit down the front of his shirt, and takes a good once-over of the man hunched on the floor beside the insane woman who is my mother. And without any sign of shock, no swooning or crying or slapping, he slurs:

"Finnick Odair?"


	2. The Journey Home

Chapter 2: The Journey Home

_Timothy_

The man next to my mother breaks the silence.

"Hey." His voice is weary, but has a familiar tone. I wonder where I recognize it from until I realize that it's my voice.

Katniss's eyes are red and angry when she bursts out, "Nineteen years, and that's all you can say?! _Hey_?"

"It's good to see you too..." he mutters, and turns back to the woman on the floor. Peeta stops staring at him long enough to choke out a sentence.

"Finnick... is it really... you?"

"Yeah," he replied, "I know, it's been a while." Haymitch, without any inhibitions, says plainly:

"Weren't you dead?"

_Yes, he was!_ I think, _This man can't be my father, can't be Finnick Odair..."_

Finnick, or at least the man who claims to be him, eyes Haymitch almost with amusement. "Obviously not," he said, "or else I'm very confused." A pause. "Peeta, Katniss, people, please, don't just stand there. You aren't the only ones who've been grieving!" He stops ranting and glances around the room at every awe-struck statue.

I still stand, frozen, staring a this man who has my build, my voice, my hair...

And I come to realize his glances have led him to me.

"Timothy?" he says quietly, so quiet that I can barely hear, "No, it couldn't be..."

"Yeah."

It slips out before I think.

"Yeah, hey...how..."

"How did I know?" I refuse to believe this stranger is my father, even though he read my thoughts.

"That's easy," he says, "your eyes. They have the ocean in them, like your mother's."

I am silent and cold. And he notices.

"It's been so long, I'm sorry..." He falters and gives a nervous laugh.

"I've never been good with apologies."

Katniss regains movement and composes herself, something I have noticed she is extremely skilled at. The composing herself, that is, not the moving. "Finnick," she says, "How are you..."

There's silence while she whispers the last word.

"..._alive?"_

_ Finnick_

_ I sit and prepare to tell my story. They are all staring at me so hard, so intently, it's almost like being a mentor again, with pressure and cameras and guilt trained on you. But I swallow hard and remain calm, like I attempted to when mentoring Annie. While watching her slip... _

_ I wish I had some rope._

_ "So," I begin, "uh... I didn't die."_

_ They all look at me like I'm stupid._

_ "I mean, I know it looked like it but... what I'm trying to say is... the sewer."_

_ Man, I just realized how bad that sounded._

_ "I jumped in the sewer before the Holo. But after the bite."_

_ Peeta regards me with a critical stare before responding, "That's brilliant. But... the bite? And nineteen years? Where were you?"_

_ And there, I plunge into the story._

_ "It bit me, you all saw it. And Katniss, you threw the Holo down the hatch, I knew. But I always thought of one last resort way to cheat death... the moment your life flashes before your eyes. All those __lights, awake in the arenas, they gave me time to think. If your life passes in one moment before you die, it means you have an extra moment to live. So, while I saw a lighthouse, Mags, my trident..."_

_ "...Annie in her wedding dress..." Katniss whispers._

_ "Yes," I say, unwilling to ask how she knew, "that's what I saw. But while all those images were flashing by, I took that moment to jump into the sewer and swim _down_. _

_ "A moment, though, is such a short time. So much shorter than a second. And so you see, I had no time to avoid the bite of that air-freshening mutt. As I swam in that putrid water, the greenish brown around me turned red in a cloud around my head and I felt, then I was going to die. I knew it. Unfortunately, you only get the life-flashing experience once, I guess. So I had no extra moment to swim further downstream when the Holo blew up. I was knocked deeper into the water, but managed to keep swimming, clawing my way toward light. When I reached the surface, I took one breath and..."_

_ The way they're all staring at me is almost scary._

_ "...and I passed out."_


	3. Remembering

Chapter 3: Remembering

_Timothy_

A collective groan passes around the room, like they were expecting something more noble than "passing out." I guess I was, too.

This man, the one I'm beginning to believe is Finnick Odair, my father, is tired. I can tell from looking at the lines on his face and the way his bluish-greenish-greyish... or I guess sea-colored...eyes are flat, like the ocean after a storm. I can only describe them the way that mine look after a day of being fake at school. His too-long bronze hair covers part of his face, like mine did the summer of second grade when my Mother hadn't given me a haircut for weeks. His tanned skin matches mine in every way possible. And the more I scrutinize his face while he continues his story, under the excuse that there's nothing else to look at, the more I notice how much he reminds me of myself.

It's more than just looks, its the expressions on his face.

He tells of his journey with a slightly sad expression, like years have been stolen from him. They have. I often wear that face when I'm alone, and no one has the chance to realize that all my romances at school meant nothing and that I'm empty, nothing to show for the nineteen years I've been alive.

Yes, I know that face well.

And behind his ocean-eyes, I can see shame. I know, first-hand, what it's for. It's shame for not loving anyone in a long time, not truly. It's the look of someone that's gone too long without love. I use it all the time, but not even Rue notices.

So, by looking at his face, his eyes that are like mine, I manage to stay through the whole story.

_Finnick_

_ I continue my story, but I'm not really hearing what I say. I'm too busy looking at Timothy._

_ "...I woke up... who knows how much later? Days, probably... and noticed the blood on my neck had clotted..."_

_ Wow, he looks like me._

_ "...crawled to a ladder, about to crawl out onto the street, when two voices behind me knocked me off the rungs in surprise. 'Isn't that Finnick Odair?' one voice said. I stayed stock still. 'Yeah, what a mess. He'll still do nicely.' Two pairs of footsteps approached, and before I could defend myself, one cuffed my temple and I was out again."_

_ Has it really been nineteen years?_

_"...woke up in a spacious room, all metal with high rafters and pipes lining the walls. 'He's awake.' That voice was hushed, as if they thought I couldn't hear them. I saw three figures striding out of a shadowy corner, and I finally beheld the men who had assaulted me; tall, muscled Capitol men with dyed skin and tattoos. The voice I had heard before came from one with a deep purple skin tone and black eyes. And I mean... all black, like it was all pupil. 'Ready to be made an example?' he said, grinning. Another with pale green skin and bright yellow tattoos that made my eyes nearly bleed pulled out a syringe. 'I believe you're familiar with tracker-jackers?' 'Yes,' I said nervously, 'though I'm not too fond of the memories.' The third, skin metallic gold and blue, laughed. 'Of course not,' he said, 'but soon, you will be. We're not too happy that the Capitol was... incapacitated, so to speak.' What?! I thought. 'We think it would be best if we reminded the districts who's more powerful... and who works for whom...' The green one pierced my arm with the syringe, injecting the venom. Before my mind became nonfunctional, though, I heard the blue and gold one saying, 'Hope you'll enjoy joining our little... Loyalist club..."_

_ Timothy, how could I leave you for that long? It was their fault, I guess._

_ "...next thing I knew, I was out on a Capitol street, with vague memories of fighting, running, escaping...__but I couldn't remember who I was, why my neck, face, body was covered with blood and how the terrible wound on my throat had gotten there. I looked around frantically in a huge crowd of people, and saw the President's Mansion, with a scruffy woman and a large, strong man next to her on the huge white marble porch. She was reciting the Presidential Oath, something I knew I'd heard about in school. But where did I go to school? I thought. "...__the new President Paylor!" boomed the man at her side. Everyone turned and left, all looking confused, and they nearly trampled me."_

_ And your mother, she must hate me. She should._

_ "...the streets finally cleared. I stumbled around the city, confused and alone. I found metal train tracks after about a half hour of this, and aimlessly followed them. I'm still not sure what it was, but something kept driving me, like I was going home. I couldn't remember my home. Or anyone I loved... After following the tracks for nearly a day, I came upon a beautiful city, covered in soot but still beautiful. I shielded my eyes from the sun for a better view, brushing my chin and noticing a beard was starting to grow. I didn't even know if I'd had a beard before... the only thing I knew for sure is that something was done to me, something that went horribly wrong."_

_ But I know she doesn't. Annie's too good. I don't deserve her; that's what Mags said. __I guess I'm just a lucky guy._

_ "...I asked a civilian where I was. 'District One,' they said with a strange tone. Like I was stupid. I knew that I had a district, too, but where? What was it... I was too absorbed in thought to notice a middle-aged man I had bumped into. He looked me over once and asked abruptly, 'You're looking for work, right?' What? 'Well,' he continued, 'I need some help at my house. Doing some rebuilding from the bombs.' I was silent and startled. 'Well?' I shook the glaze out of my eyes and replied, for I had nothing else to grasp, 'Sure. I'll take the job.' He led me through somewhat deserted streets to a small house...__"_

_ I hope they forgive me. Not like it was my fault._

_ And then I notice Timothy looking at me, too. My mouth keeps moving, words coming out, but we stare at each other's eyes. His eyes are like mine._

_ Something in those eyes tell me that he wants to believe me. Forgive me._

_ "...so I worked for him for years while he was at his job, making things for the Capitol, he said. It was nineteen years, I suppose. It was a good life. There was always food on the table, a warm bed to sleep in, and a friendly face to talk to. He was kind, payed well. Never asked where I was from or who I was. Not that I would have been able to answer..."_

_And I want to let him. It's been too long without me feeling anything. In a different lifetime, to a man who looked a lot like me, that would sound superficial and unnecessary compared to what he had. Now it's the other way around for that man._

_ So I do. I let Timothy forgive me, and I forgive myself._

_ "...I worked happily until he asked me to watch his house while he went to the sea for vacation. _Sea_... the word echoed in my ears. Sea, sea, sea. He would be back at four on Sunday. Four, sea... the words grew louder, opening little doors into my memory. 'I'm sure you'll be fine,' he said, 'I'm only going to visit my niece Annie.' Annie._ Annie. _The name hurt my heart and stung my soul. Annie, sea, Four, District Four, Annie Odair, _Finnick_ Odair... and I remembered. That day, I took the soonest train to Four without a goodbye to him. I had to find my family, the people I'd forgotten about... or rather, the ones who'd been driven out of my mind."_

_I hoped to find so much there._

_ "No one was there; at least, no one I knew. I had to look for... Katniss, I remembered, Katniss... in District 12. And I found all of you, on a rainy night about a week later, here."_

_ But I found more in 12, more than I hoped to find. I found my son. I found love, finally._

_Timothy_

By the time the man from outside is finished—the man with the scraggly bronze hair, the beard nearly making his face unrecognizable—I am certain he is my father.

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**Sorry for any confusion! I edited this chapter while it was up on the site, so anyone scratching their heads at the next chapter should probably come back and read the updated version of this one. And please...**

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